


and not one speck will remain

by jaimeykay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-19
Updated: 2012-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:43:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimeykay/pseuds/jaimeykay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's always just so cold after returning from the warmth of hell. So, he tries to warm himself up with layers of clothing, blasting heat, and then, you know, a little fire doesn't really seem like a bad idea and those jeans and hoodie that he's got on DO soak up the lighter fluid rather nicely. Hmm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and not one speck will remain

Sam notices something is wrong when he steps in the car after the pit stop.

He nearly chokes at the heat and jumps away from the door. “Dude,” he says, “why do you have the heater on?”

Dean’s got a long-sleeve henley on underneath his jacket, and Sam can tell that he’s shivering. He still manages to give Sam an incredulous stare and huddles deeper into his clothes.

“Are you kidding? It’s fucking freezing,” he says, and he messes with the knob again, making sure it’s on as high as it can go.

“Dean. It’s July. In Florida. It’s the opposite of cold. Seriously, I’m not getting in the car with the heater on.”

Dean glares balefully at him and shudders. He acquiesces, however, but it takes only moments for him to eye the ratty old blanket they’ve got in the backseat.

“Are you sick?” Sam asks, and he braves stepping into the car after letting the hot air escape out his open door. He leans in and appraises his brother, who shrinks away.

“Dude. P-personal s-space.”

“Something is wrong with you,” Sam counters. “Stop moving!”

Dean bites his lip and looks away, and Sam immediately feels bad. It’s barely been a week since returning from Hell, after all. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sam sighs. “But there’s no way you should be cold right now.”

“Fine,” Dean says tightly. “Something’s w-wrong. C-can we g-go?”

“As long as we’re going to a hotel first. Here, move over.”

Dean sneers. “W-why?”

“Look at your fucking hands, that’s why.”

Dean does, and he sees that his hands are shaking so violently that there’s no way he’d be able to drive with precision. He curls his lip but scoots over, pushing Sam out of the passenger seat, so Sam hops out and makes his way to the driver’s seat. He settles in with a silent sigh of relief. It’s almost like he’s back home.

:::

Over the next few days it doesn’t get any better. Dean buys coffee, then more coffee, and even hot chocolate to change it up. Sam’s dying to take his temperature or _something_ , but Dean scurries away every time.

He’s just gotten back from getting dinner – because there’s no way he feels like driving and listen to Dean’s teeth chattering in the passenger seat – to find his brother with both motel blankets around his shoulders and Sam’s hoodie pulled over his head, strings pulled tight.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Sam says. He checks the thermostat and sighs, turning it up just a tad. He doesn’t think it’ll make a difference but at least he feels like he’s doing something.

Sam wakes up the next morning to a firm body next to him, and he nearly jumps out of bed. Flipping over, he comes face-to-face with his brother, who’s blinking sleepily at him.

“What are you doing in my bed?” Sam demands, reaching out to brush his hand across his forehead. Dean feels…completely normal.

“C-cold, S-sammy,” Dean chatters, still engulfed in both blankets and Sam’s sweatshirt.

Sam’s completely at a loss. “Really, Dean. Something’s not right here. Come on, let me take you to a doctor or something.”

Dean shakes his head emphatically, pulling the covers over his head. “N-no,” he says, muffled under the blankets. “’M not sick. Jus’ c-cold.”

“This is so fucked up,” Sam sighs, leaning back against the headboard. Dean seems to sink into his warmth, and Sam feels himself start to sweat.

:::

Sam insists on taking a relatively easy hunt, one where most research can be done in the motel room. Once they figure out where the guy’s buried, Dean insists on going with him to the graveyard even though he can barely hold a gun.

“Gimme the lighter fluid,” Sam says, and Dean mechanically grabs it, albeit carelessly, and some of it spills onto his hoodie-covered arm. He stares at it, almost mesmerized, and Sam has to snap his fingers in front of his face in order to get his attention.

Sam lights the match and tosses it into the grave, and Dean watches it with rapt attention as it disappears into the darkness before the body is engulfed in flames. 

Sam turns around to find Dean almost in the grave, inching closer to the fire, eyes reflecting the flames as they look hungrily at the burning body. His hands are steadily rising from his side toward the fire, fingers curling.

Sam’s grabbed him by the shoulders so quickly that Dean jumps, gaze ripped away from the fire. He hauls him away before letting go, and Dean crumbles to the ground, looking stunned.

“What the fuck was that?” Sam demands, and Dean looks up at him, dazed. 

“What?” he mumbles, looking around. He blinks slowly, and Sam notices that for the first time in a while, Dean isn’t shivering.

:::

Dean’s much more careful after that.

He makes sure that Sam doesn’t see that he’s replaced the knife with the lighter underneath his pillow. He curls his fingers around it and sinks into the mattress, imaging the heat sinking into his bones as the flames lick his skin. He can’t believe how much he misses the heat, how pathetically weak this body is.

He also waits for Sam to leave to go get food before he’s darting into the bathroom, flicking the lighter and watching the tiny flame. Sometimes he turns the light off. It’s more soothing that way.

He’s gentle when he presses his flesh against the flame, hissing in pleasure as it sears his skin. Dean rolls his sleeve up so only his forearm gets burned; that way, he can hide it so Sam doesn’t see it. Sam would probably just overreact.

One morning he’s so cold that he doesn’t even want to roll his sleeve up and expose his arm. Once again, he waits for Sam to leave for coffee – most likely to see Ruby though, Dean’s not stupid – but he’s actually grateful.

Dean huddles in his sweatshirt and blows out a sigh, swearing he sees it in the chill of the air. His eyes drift over to the lighter fluid and his breath catches in his chest.

Just in case, he goes over and locks the door, feeling better as the lock clacks into place.

Dean holds the can in his hand for a second, eyeing his clothes. He can’t hide them, after all – Sam’s bound to notice if they’re singed. He eventually decides on the bottom of his pant leg. That’s the least visible spot.

Holding his breath, he sprinkles some fluid on his jeans and slowly brings the lighter up, clicking it open. It catches fire instantly and he’s grinning like a maniac as the fire dances.

It’s not enough though, not nearly enough, and the novelty wears off after a few seconds. He finds himself yearning for more, to be completely covered as the flames stroke his face and crawl into his hair. He’s just so damn _cold_.

Dean takes a deep breath, inhaling the smoke and letting it rattle around in his chest. He’s instantly sedated and he simply listens to himself breathe for a few more seconds.

He sadly puts the fire out and stares mournfully at his burned jeans, shucking them for sweatpants and thick socks. The tiny amount of gratification is completely gone now, and he slips back underneath the blankets so that only his eyes are visible.

If he stares intently enough, he can still see the whiff of smoke as it trails lazily near the ceiling, and he grieves as it dissipates. 

:::

Dean manages to fall asleep despite being colder than he was before, and he’s startled awake when Sam slams the door.

He pries his eyes open, watching as Sam sniffs the air with his lip curled. “Why does it smell like smoke in here?”

“Overheated my hot water in the microwave,” Dean mumbles, burrowing back under the covers to hide his face. Sam could always tell when he was lying.

Sam scoffs. “Right. Whatever.”

He listens to Sam’s footsteps in those huge boots, and he temporarily wonders how it would feel to slip into them right after Sam takes them off – he’d still feel the residual heat from Sam’s feet and he bets it would feel so –

Something’s thrown on Dean’s bed and he grunts, his train of thought shut down.

“Got you an omelet. You might want to eat it now while it’s nice and hot.” Sam’s tone is completely sarcastic, but it does get Dean’s attention, and he grabs the box and slides it under the covers with him. Opening up the lid, he inhales the steam given off of the omelet and smiles.

This is the warmest he’s ever felt Since.

:::

Dean doesn’t feel like moving for much of the day, and he can tell Sam is getting irritated by staying in the room. He blurts out the idea of making s’mores.

Sam’s jaw literally drops as he raises an eyebrow, and Dean allows a snicker at how ridiculous he looks.

“What?” he asks innocently. Sam just shakes his head.

“Are you still that freezing?”

Dean nods, pouting a bit, but he can barely contain his glee of being near a roaring fire again. Sam purses his lips but says nothing as he watches Dean climb out of his cocoon of blankets and tug on his jacket and yet another sweatshirt.

Sam’s quiet even when Dean manages to drive them to a grocery store and is pushed out to buy supplies. Dean blasts the heat for a few minutes, but makes sure to turn it off in enough time that Sam won’t feel the effects when he gets back.

Sam still says nothing as they traipse back behind their motel into a small clearing, and they briefly separate in order to find some logs for the fire.

Dean sighs with relief when he can finally start the fire, but he’s careful to not get too close too fast. Sam’s eyeing him with distrust, and he schools his features to look casual, setting up his s’more with care.

Dean can feel rather than see Sam relax and sit next him, and they both stare into the flames as their marshmallows melt. Sam removes his when it’s slightly melted, and he begins to place it between the graham crackers. Dean keeps his in the fire, wanting to see just how long it lasts before it disappears completely, turning completely into liquid before slithering off the stick, and he shivers with anticipation.

He doesn’t realize that he’s crawling toward the blaze until Sam is right behind him.

“Dude, no.” Sam grabs him by the arm and drags him away. “We’re done. Let’s go.”

Dean just manages to clamp down on a whine as Sam puts the fire and pulls him away.

“I’m taking you to a clinic tomorrow,” Sam says. “I should have done this at the beginning, but it hasn’t gotten any better, and it’s freaking me the fuck out.”

Dean doesn’t bother telling him it doesn’t matter.

He takes a long hot shower, and by the time he’s done and redressed, Sam’s already asleep in the next bed.

Sam’s gotten much bigger since Dean last saw him before Hell, that’s for sure. He stares at his brother’s bulk, thinking. He reaches under his pillow quietly, running his fingers around the now familiar object.

He flicks the lighter in one hand, lighter fluid in the other, imagining with delight just how much heat Sam would give off.


End file.
